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Cliartho Philanders 



A VERY ANCIENT IDYLL 
NEWLY REFURBISHED FOR ANOTHER SPRING 


BY 

HARRY ESTY DOUNCE 

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V* f 


Clinton, New York 
GEORGE WILLIAM BROWNING 
1909 


Copyrighted, 1909, by 
Harry Esty Dounee 



©Cl, A 25377! 


Cliartho Philanders 


HARRY ESTY DOUNCE 


I. 

Now Oberon the Fay-lord groweth ill — 

Sad Oberon! — upon his nuptial day — 

And phials are vain and lotus-honeyed pill 
Of calcine from a skylark’s seventh quill — 
Compounded to restore the regal Fay. 

Here quoth the gnomish Wizard, staring deep 
In dew-drop crystal — “Sire, I alone 
Could name thy philter, though the leeches steep 
Thee poppy-petals, brew’d with runes to sleep — 

But fetch earth’s fairest hue to be mine own!” 

Scarce she hath ceased, when elfin swarms are sped 
To seek this potent nonpareil of tints — 

They cull narcissus, snip a violet’s head, 

And phial wet rubies where a wood-dove bled, 

To bribe th’ enchauntress and regale their Prince. 

They snare a spotless rosy-gull at play, 

And brush the bloom of April from his breast — 
Unfinger’d grapes in vineyards of Tokay, 

They veil with vapor, stripp’d from fading day 
To weigh the sprites a-wing upon their quest. 

Then chip they ancient ivory, stained with years, 

And pallid corals filch’d from Sisters’ beads — 

And perfect pearls — Calypso’s deathless tears, — 

And murex deep the Roman serf reveres, 

Or stranded corals strewn with ocean weeds! 

Now swift into the palace they repair, 

To spread their spoil around the charmer’s seat — 
In vain! She spurn eth tinted riches rare, 

But, fuming forth to seek her crannied lair, 

A briar-rose espieth at her feet. 

As pigmy lords and chamberlains make moan 
Upon the sullen sorceress’ decree, 

There culleth she the fairest flower blown 
And shrilleth small in voice, “By this alone 
My lords, I save thy Oberon to thee!” 

Then straight into the chamber she hath sped, 

Her bribe in hand to cense the royal nose — 


one 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


And ere on wings of gossamer she fled, 

Hath scrawl'd prescription — (somewhat thus it read) : 
“Oberon Rex, take thou — this briar-rose!" 

And Oberon, with instant, joyous bound, 

Hath gain'd his slipper'd feet, and lusty cried 
For robes and crown — but marveling hath found 
The flower lately fallen to the ground, 

Transmuted, stands Titania, his bride! 

— The Prologue of Florio the Fool. 


HE Court Physician bowed profoundly, backed 
through the doorway, and bowed again , still 
more profoundly ; the oak door closed upon 
him with no sound. The squeak of his soft 
ooze slippers dwindled down the corridor and 
died, and the song of a nesting wren bubbled in at the 
casement. 

“How excessively stupid!” sighed the Prince. He 
yawned at elegant length, relaxed, and lolled uneasily 
in the vast embrace of his invalid-chair. 

“Not to ride — not to fence,” he murmured. “Not 
to play at quoits, nor to walk about, nor to meet one’s 
plighted lady in the gardens — and now not even to 
eat!” And once more he sighed, with fretful emphasis. 

“How excessively stupid! Is it not, Florio?” 

A youth, pied in motley, faced the Prince at his 
tiny table, and between them a steaming platter headed 
its silver cover, a mound of amber jelly trembled with 
the slightest jarring of the board, and two squat bot- 
tles of cobwebbed blackness jostled the fragile goblets 
at their elbows. 

“Stupid enough, your Highness,” the Fool assented. 
“Almost as stupid, by your favor, as — my rank and 
function.” 

“I’d rather you’d call me Cliartho,” grumbled the 
Prince. “You do it sometimes — when you aren’t mak- 
ing fun of me, I think. Do you mean in earnest to 
bewail your office?” 



two 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


“Your Highness knows it,” answered the Fool. 

“Ah me!” sighed the Prince, in half-serious 
despair. “ ‘Not to ride, not to fence’ — and now, not 
even a Fool!” 

“Your Highness seems not far from it,” remarked 
the Fool, with demure impertinence. The Prince smiled 
lazily. 

“I could almost believe you,” he yawned. “Poor 
Florio! You were one of my finest inventions. I 
should have been quite content to leave the Head Gar- 
dener’s son in peace, and pass my idle hours in his 
company — but dear me! They wouldn’t have it at all, 
the under-chamberlains and the sleepy Tutor and old 
Grimalkin and the rest of them — they wagged their 
heads and talked association — ” 

“Wisely,” the Fool interrupted. 

“Wisely, Florio? when you know so much more 
than I, and can beat me at the foils, and sing, and 
scribble verses?” 

“Bad verses, your Highness.” 

“Bad verses exactly, Florio — the natural talent for 
a fool, I think.” 

“But your Highness fences remarkably,” said the 
Fool, unperturbed. “And as for the other things, 
knowledge — ” 

“ — Is power,” the Prince supplied, mock-sen- 
ten tiously. “At least I know my lack of it, which is 
more by half than my subjects will know, and so should 
make me a powerful ruler. Look you, Florio, I might 
not play with the Gardener’s boy — but Princes, lest 
they be lonely, may sport with Fools. Perforce I made 
a Fool of you. Why grumble? God did as much for 
me.” 

“It is pleasant to be near your Highness,” said 
the Fool, simply, but so sincerely that the Prince turned 
his head from the light, lest the moisture in his eyes 
should glisten. “I could pass a happy life near your 


three 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


Highness on other terms — but since I have no hump 
to my back, nor any owlish warping of the brain — 
since, as your Highness observes, I can fence, sing a 
bit, make verses — ” 

“ ‘ Bad verses,’ ” corrected the Prince. The Fool 
swept his knuckles to his chin, as one saluting a touch 
of the foil. 

“Well said, your Highness, though in justice to 
myself — your royal father’s poet claims most of them 
as his.” 

“Which proves nothing of their merit, Florio,” 
retorted the Prince, with gentle malice. “But I’ll tell 
him he mustn’t, if you like. Now continue — admitting 
that you possess these several useless accomplishments 
— what then?” 

“Then, if your Highness please, I should like to 
quit being a Fool, and to become a gentleman.” 

“The two are not incompatible — at Court,” the 
Prince commented dryly. “But, as old Grimalkin would 
say, we shall see, Florio.” 

He drew a tiny timepiece from his doublet. 

“It lacks a half-hour to noon,” he said. “At noon 
my plighted lady will come into the gardens, where I 
must not keep tryst with her, if the leech have his 
way ... We shall see, Florio. Five minutes we shall 
devote entirely to seeing; you’d better dine on sniffs, 
or watch for tiercels stooping at your pigeons — I think 
they’re flying an eyass in the orchards.” He settled 
back among the cushions, and closed his eyes. 

Thin steam curled up from the forbidden viands, 
vanishing to trickle slowly down the silver dome, or 
bedew the cool black spires of the bottles. The aroma 
of roasted partridge blended deliciously with the sweet- 
ness of new-cut hay in distant fields, and from the 
garden honeysuckle and wistaria cloyed the turrets 
with a heavy scent of bloom. Through the ivied case- 
ment the Fool watched a squadron of snowy pigeons 


four 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


wheel and spread in terror as a long-winged menace 
dropped among them from the blue. But the young 
falcon glanced from his bird; when he caught himself 
up the pigeons had scattered to safety. He mounted 
the sky by smooth spirals, the slender lashes trailing 
from his talons. 

“Oyez! Oyez!” proclaimed the Prince at last. 
“The court decides in your favor, Plorio. Henceforth 
you shall not be a Fool by vocation — and for that mat- 
ter, neither shall I.” 

“I am grateful to your Highness,” smiled the Fool. 

“You needn’t be,” said the Prince. “I dare say 
I’ve found it as stupid as you have. “ Monsieur , 
ennuyons nous ensemble,” a stupid king commanded — 
it was a great mistake! Que nous n’ ennuyons plus, de 
grace, Monsieur.” 

“Mais Votre Altesse n’a jamais ” — the dutiful 
Fool began. 

“I told you not to bore me,” the Prince com- 
manded. “And now, as there are still twenty-five 
minutes, let us eat and drink, and perchance be merry.” 

“Your Highness means to eat!” exclaimed the 
Fool. 

“ — To eat and drink — and perchance be merry,” 
declared the Prince. “The leech and my liver may 
object if they will — a plague take ’em both, say I! 
Fall to, Florio — I know you’re fond of partridge.” 

And they made an excellent meal. 

“And now,” said the Prince, as he poured the 
last wine from his bottle — “a health to my fair 
betrothed, whom I’ve never seen — and who comes into 
the garden in seven minutes ! This marrying by state 
arrangement,” he observed, “is the one remaining pre- 
rogative of princes. Your clothes, please, Florio,” he 
added. 

The Fool stared his amazement. 

“Your clothes, man, your clothes — get them off at 


five 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


once, and look less like a dolt, if you can manage it!” 

“Your Highness means — ” 

“What he says. Come, come, it will never do to 
keep the lady waiting. Out of your Fool’s regalia — 
quickly ! ’ ’ 

Perforce the Fool did as he was bid. 

“Your Highness means me to meet the Princess?” 
he ventured. 

“But hardly,” smiled the Prince, rising and throw- 
ing off his gown. “My Highness will keep tryst — but 
in your plumage, Florio! We’re nearly of a height, 
I think. Your leg may be the better” — glancing at his 
parti-colored calves — “but I doubt it Florio — I doubt 
it. Now listen; there are toggeries laid in the cham- 
ber — a Maltese-velvet cloak, and peach-colored hose 
from Vienna. You may try their fit, if you like. By 
three o’clock you’ll have to go to bed — the leech and 
Grimalkin come at four; if they found that you were 
you, it might be awkward for you — ” 

He chuckled with childish mischief, a healthy color 
warming his pallid cheeks. 

“The canopies will hide you,” he explained. 
They’ll have the sense not to waken the Prince — or 
at least I hope they will. The leech will leave his 
messes — you may drop ’em out the window. By seven 
we’ll sup together. Now I’m off — I shall slip out the 
passage-door, and no one will see me. Three minutes — 
Au revoir, Florio!” His watch slid down among the 
cushions, and he was gone. 

The Fool, shorn of his folly, stared ruefully at the 
dishes on the table. Then he shrugged philosophically, 
burst into laughter, and whistled a snatch of song. 
He put his head out at the casement; the Prince, look- 
ing up furtively from the yew-hedges, waved a hand in 
gleeful farewell. Then the Fool went into the cham- 
ber to search for the peach-colored hose. 


SIX 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


II. 

Princess, make me Lord of Laughter, 

Motley, bells, and blithe misrule! 

Glee tonight and gloom hereafter — 

Princess, make me Lord of Laughter, 

Motley, bells, and blithe misrule, — 

I have learned the trick of laughing, 

Caught the quip of courtly chaffing, 

Brew’d the mirth that glows with quaffing 
Burgundy at Yule; 

Motley , bells , and blithe misrule , — 

I alone — thy Fool! 

Princess, make me Lord of Laughter, 

Throng and hearth, and ivory stool — 

Puncheon ring, and echo rafter! 

Princess, make me Lord of Laughter, 

Throne and hearth and ivory stool! 

Out the shadow’d oaken ingle, 

Blithe my jest and bells I jingle 
(Sparks that snap or stars a-tingle) 

Suzerain to rule — 

Throne and hearth and ivory stool — 

Princess! I — thy Fool! 

— The First Song of Florio the Fool. 


An idealized pagoda from some argosy, painted on 
veil-thin rice-paper together with dwarfish pines and' 
a snow-peak rising out of tinted mist, had drifted to 
the inland court in a forgotten year, with Europe all 
a-babble of Cathay. The celestial artist had never 
intended his delicate brushing to guide the lines of 
Occidental builders, yet the monarch of the moment, 
dreaming the golden East, entrusted that frail paint- 
ing to his craftsmen, demanding a like pagoda for the 
palace gardens. Years and climbing ivies had softened 
the lamentable result, which, still faithfully preserving 
the contours of its ancient inspiration, had come to 
suggest a ruin from the Orient, much altered in restor- 
ation by vandal hands. 

It stood, a grateful shelter from the mid-day sun, 
lulled by the murmur of bees winding in-and-out the 


seven 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


trailing wistaria blossoms. At ease on the crumbling 
bench sat a little maid in white and cobweb laces, a 
branch of cherries staining her silken lap. Footsteps 
crunched the gravel; she started swiftly up, with grown 
eyes wide, and a bursting cherry poised in her dimpled 
fingers. But nothing appeared more awful than a 
Jester in red-and-yellow motley, bowing low with languid 
grace in the sun-filled doorway. 

“Oh!” the little maid exclaimed, with infinite 
relief and a shade of disappointment. “I thought you 
were the Prince Cliartho — but you’re only — ” 

“Only another fool,” said the Jester, with the 
license of his kind. 

A tiny frown puckered her forehead. 

“Cliartho isn’t a fool,” she pouted. “He’s a nice, 
kind Prince, and next winter I’m to be his Princess! 
Have you seen the kind Prince walking in the gardens?” 

“Your Highness speaks like my German Reader,” 
said the Jester, much amused. “But if Princes aren’t 
fools, no more am I, for I am no greater fool than 
Prince Cliartho.” 

“You oughtn’t to speak that way about a Prince,” 
frowned the little maid. Then, remembering her rank: 

“Will you answer my question, sirrah?” she 
demanded. 

The Jester bowed. 

“I was to tell your Highness,” he began. “The 
Prince Cliartho, being indisposed — ” 

The little maid lifted her eyebrows. 

“ — Having eaten overmuch of rabbit-pie” — the 
Jester explained — “will be unable to meet your High- 
ness until tomorrow, but sent me in his stead, to amuse 
you.” 

“Very thoughtful of him,” said the little maid, 
dropping her eyes in scorn. The Jester’s admiring 
glance lingered on her lashes, and the curve of her pretty 
cheeks. “To make himself ill — like a greedy scullion’s 
boy — and send me his Fool to play with!” 

eight 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


“If your Highness please — ” the Jester entreated 
humhly, but growing less and less languid in the gaze 
of the little maid — “If your Highness please, the Prince 
is doubly ill with disappointment, and the pie was very 
good — ” 

The little maid curled her lip. 

“I had some, you see,” the Jester explained. 

“You? Do you dine at the Prince’s table?” 

“Nowhere else. We dine alone together, Prince 
and Fool.” 

“Then you know the Prince very well,” said the 
little maid, eagerly. 

“As myself,” declared the Jester. “Oh, it needs 
little knowledge.” 

“Tell me all about him,” she commanded. “Is he 
kind?” 

“Your Highness has called him bind.” 

“But I’ve never even seen him — they told me he 
was kind. Is he kind to you?” 

“Positively overindulgent, ” said the Jester, with a 
smile.- “And to your Highness he could not he other- 
wise. ’ ’ 

She met his admiring regard. Except as the 
regard of a Jester, there was nothing of rudeness about 
it, and the little maid colored slightly, though rather, 
in her innocence, from pleasure than from embarrass- 
ment. For the Jester was in no way ill-favored, but 
wholesome and good to look upon. 

“I hope he may be kind.” the little maid confided, 
wistfully. “You know, I’ve never seen him, and I’m 
sure to be terribly frightened — when I heard you on 
the path I nearly ran away.” 

“Your Highness thought me the Prince!” said the 
Jester, his gray eyes dancing. All trace of listlessness 
had disappeared; he was filled with a strange delight, 
which he could not explain to himself. 

“Until I saw you,” the little maid assented. “Tell 


nine 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


me some more — and since the Prince isn’t coming, you 
may sit down, and I’ll give you some cherries. Do 
you like cherries'? The Jester nodded eagerly. 

“Your Highness was meaning the cherries for the 
Prince?” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t have dared,” she laughed — a most 
musical little laugh, like the purl of a woodland brook. 
“I’ve been eating them as fast as I could — to keep from 
being afraid, you know — and throwing the stones at 
the bees. But I’ve left a few, and when they’re gone, 
you may fetch me more.” She held forth the branch 
for his delectation. 

The Jester selected a cherry — then another, and 
another — in sheer pleasure at the feel of the smooth, 
firm fruit between his lips. Then, by some strange 
sequence of thought, he glanced from the ruby drupes 
to the lips of the little maid, puckered in ecstasy over 
a bursting cherry. Then he began to understand his 
new delight. 

“What shall I tell you?” he asked. 

“M’m— let me see,” pondered the little maid. “Is 
he handsome?” 

The Jester jingled his Jester’s bauble, and held it 
at arm’s length for reflective consideration. “He has 
been called handsome,” he said. “He looks somewhat 
like myself— or so at least they tell me.” 

‘ ‘ Why, you aren ’t handsome a bit ! ’ ’ she cried — then 
quickly perceiving his half-real dismay — “But you’re 
rather nice-looking, I think. Your eyes I like very 
much.” 

The inexperienced Jester never questioned the inno- 
cence of her speech, and indeed it was quite unquestion- 
able, though a world-wise youth of the court would 
assuredly have overlooked it. The little maid displayed 
an open locket. 

“My miniature,” she explained. “I’ve had it a 
very long time — since we were first betrothed. Is 
— is it like him — now?” 


ten 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


The Jester inspected the locket. 

“Ringlets,” he murmured, absently. Five years 
ago, my hair — ” 

He bit the sentence short. 

“We used to play together in the gardens,” he 
explained. “They dressed us just alike — the Prince 
would have it so — ” 

The little maid smiled understanding^. Her smile, 
when she liked, was delightful to behold; her temples 
and the corners of her eyes rippled into velvet creases, 
and the faintest of dimples eddied in her cheeks. The 
Jester, grown very observant, smiled back his wild 
approval, and the little maid laughed happily for them 
both. Then a corpulent burgher-bee in yellow cloak and 
glossy doublet blundered in at one of the doorways, 
booming straight for the little maid, who screamed a 
tiny scream, and invoked the aid of the Jester. At the 
sight of beauty in distress, that youth sprang up full 
knightly, and drove off the intruder with the clean- 
plucked branch. The little maid threw the last cherry- 
stone after the bee, and rose to shake the stems from 
her shimmering gown. 

“Let’s go for some more,” she suggested. “I know 
which are the nicest ones, and you shall climb the tree.” 

“Er — climb the tree?” said the rueful Jester. 

“Of course — why not?” demanded the little maid. 
“I’d climb it myself if it weren’t for my shoes and 
gown. ’ ’ 

“ You climb a tree?” 

“Of course — can’t you?” 

“I don’t think I ever tried,” he admitted. “But 
I can ride, and fence, and play — ” He stopped; they 
laughed together. 

“Then you can climb a tree,” she asserted, and 
they followed the path to the orchards. 

Somewhere, in the distant peach-rows, a linnet was 
warbling forth a flow of contralto music ; pilfering bands 


eleven 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


of blackbirds and starlings swayed in the laden branches, 
and a magpie flashed his snowy shoulders down the 
aisle of the trees. The Jester laid off cloak and sword, 
and climbed right manfully, despite his jingling bells 
and pointed slippers; he broke off twigs heavy with 
ripeness, and dropped them into the little maid’s ready 
skirt, until it would hold no more, and the creamy silk 
was stained in uncountable places. A starling dropped 
into the tree within reach of his arm, and vanished, 
shrieking with terror, at sight of the garish motley. 
At last the Jester clambered down, and sat Turk-legged 
on the grass beside the little maid, and together they 
feasted. 

“You’ve torn your sleeve!” she cried, and turned 
the sleeve around for his inspection. 

“So I have,” he laughed. “But today is the last 
I need wear them — the — the Prince has released me — 
I am his Fool no longer.” 

“I am so glad,” said the little maid. Then they 
scrambled to their feet, and wandered for a while in 
the sun-dappled orchard. The little maid laughed to 
the birds and the dancing butterflies, and to the fat 
brown rabbits that scampered away through the hedge- 
rows. At length, beyond the apple-trees, they came to 
a high, lichened wall, crossed by narrow steps, and 
crowned with an ancient stile. The Jester mounted the 
steps, and surveyed the world about him. At his feet 
a smooth gray road dwindled off into wonderful dis- 
tance, and lost itself in the violet of the farthest ridges. 
Alternate meadow and forest stretched earpetwise from 
the roadside — the largest trees sheared back for a space 
from the ditches, lest evil gentry lurk among them in 
wait for the couriers at dawn. Before him lay fields 
of ripening grain, like gently-rolling seas of gold in the 
sunlight; on farther knolls were marshalled the ranks 
of vineyards, and garden-plots, patches of serried gray- 
ness, broke the monotony of slope and level. Behind 


twelve 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


him rose the breasts of the orchard, studded with 
promise of fruit, and through their topmost twigs he 
saw the turrets of the palace, their casements flaming 
with sun. Of all that goodly world he drank a soul- 
filling draught — and looked down to the little maid. 

“Let us cross over,” he called, “and wander about 
in the world.” 

“Ought we?” she doubted. 

“Of course we ought,” he assured her, gaily, whip- 
ping his sword from the scabbard, and thrusting grandil- 
oquently in the air. “Why not? I ? 11 take care of you. 
Come!” 

The steps were narrow and steep. He met her 
half-way up, and took her hand, the little, dimpled hand, 
whose very touch thrilled the Jester to the marrow. 
They crossed the stile and descended ; still hand-in-hand, 
like little children, they wandered forth upon the King’s 
highway. 


Ill 

Wild sunlight, wanton Spring, 

Old orchards blowing — 

Where new birds sway and sing 
To new-born roses glowing — 

W hile velvet mosses cling 
By woodland waters flowing ! 

White clouds, a smiling sky, 

Long shadows palling — 

Far thickets frosted lie, 

With cherry-petals falling — 

Soft plaining trebles die 

Where far-strayed flocks are calling! 

When skylarks glee the light 
Of golden weather — 

When lambs fold close for night, 

And heifers drowse at tether — 

When swallows leave their height, 

We roam the fields together! 

— The Second Song of Florio the Fool. 


thirteen 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


They came at length to an ancient lane, bordered 
by files of grim poplars, whose dying tops betrayed 
the claims of age. Squirrels romped noisily over 
the buttressed boles, and the sparrows in the hollow 
branches chattered and shrieked, to guard their slovenly 
nests from the playful banditti. The sky was filled 
with swarms of weaving swallows, and the sun had 
begun to lower. 

“I am thirsty, and weary of the dust!” cried the 
little maid, and pouted ruefully at the grime of her 
trailing laces. “Let us leave the road for a while, and 
perhaps we shall find someone to give us milk, or at 
least a spring of water in the wood — Are you com- 
ing f ’ ’ 

She turned with pretty impatience to the hesitating 
Jester. 

“There is danger in leaving the road,” he said. 
“The forests are filled with robbers. If — if the 
Prince — ” 

“Who cares for your Prince?” she fretted. “I 
had rather walk about in the fields than marry a thous- 
and princes. . . . Why do you laugh? Are you mock- 
ing me, Fool?” 

The Jester was instantly grave. 

“Pardon, your Highness!” he said, bowing low. 
“I did not mean to mock, though truly, to marry a 
thousand princes — I ask no better than to walk in 
the fields with your Highness, but — I promised — ” 

“Then keep your promise!” The little maid 
stamped her foot. “Why did they give a Fool a sword 
— to prod fat scullions in the ribs, and make sport for 
the pantry-maids?” 

The Jester was colored a painful red, from his 
throat to the tiny bells that jingled above his ears. 

„ “Many fools wear swords,” he observed loftily. 

“A few wear motley. I wear both.” 


fourteen 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


But the little maid had no reverence for bad epi- 
grams. 

“You said you knew how to fence,” she taunted. 

“In all the kingdom there is one who knows bet- 
ter,” he told her, simply. “It was not for myself I 
feared — ” 

The little maid softened and dimpled, and patted 
his sleeve with her hand. 

“There, there, there,” she cooed. “I only said it 
to tease you. You’ll come with me just a little way, 
and find me a cup of milk?” 

“I will go with your Highness,” said the Jester. 

“I’m tired of my Highness,” she declared, as they 
entered the lane. “Let’s be friends for the day, shan’t 
we? What does your mother call you?” 

“I never saw my mother,” the Jester answered. 
“You — you may call me — Florio, if you like.” 

“I do like,” she assented, promptly. “ ‘Florio’ — 
it’s a beautiful name, much nicer than Cliartho” — the 
Jester frowned in his sleeve — “and you may call me 
Mariana, though when we get back to the palace I shall 
be — let me see — Madelina Mariana Patricia Annunci- 
ata, Princess of the Blood, Lady in — there’s a great 
deal more, if I could remember it. Has your Prince 
such a riddle of names?” 

The Jester made no answer. He was staring 
into space beyond the farthest-fading hills; he might 
have been thinking of his sw T ord-play, for the flush had 
not yet left his cheeks. 

“I love you,” declaimed the Jester suddenly, and 
as one pondering a sentence of death. The little maid 
stole a timorous glance at him, and then looked away 
over the grain-fields, for shining tears had started to 
her eyes. But the Jester,* rich red to his temples, saw 
only the slanted shadows on the path. 

“I love you,” he said again, and, having plunged, 
struck out wildly in the first delicious thrill and terror 


fifteen 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


of that unknown sea. It was a sadly unskillful per- 
formance, and expended a deal of needless energy — 
the clumsiest courtier of them all could have said as 
much with a sigh and a lifted eyebrow. But the little 
maid was crying quietly; her tears fell unheeded to the 
quivering folds of her bodice. And when he had noticed 
this, the Jester, intoxicated with temerity, closed his 
trembling fingers on a little hand which nestled, 
warm and trustful, in his palm. 

“Mariana” — whispered the Jester — “Mariana — ” 
His arm, as of its own free will, slipped clumsily about 
the little maid . . . drew her close to him . . . closer . . 

“Mariana, do you — do you — ” 

The little maid breathed it deliciously, still looking 
away to the fields. He bent his head. 

“Mariana — ” 

In a tiny panic, she shrank from him. But he 
kissed her cheek, and marveled at the satiny softness 
of it, so different from Grimalkin’s wrinkled face. 

“Your lips, Mariana,” he whispered, tritely, and for 
a moment his heart stopped beating. She did not seem 
to hear ; he freed his hand, and gently raised the flower- 
face to his. Her eyelids fluttered, closed .... 

And presently, each in the other’s arms, they found 
a grassy shade at the foot of a patriarch poplar, and 
there, a new world about them, they sat for a long 
time together. The Jester had long since lost his Jes- 
ter’s bauble; he drew a long face at the loss, and they 
laughed in childish glee. For when Youth and Love 
have bartered their virgin kisses, the cares of the world 
are a bauble lost, to which Youth cries riddance, while 
Love was ever blind. Then the little Princess sighed, 
and wafted them back to earth. 

“But you are only the Prince’s Fool,” she said. 
“And I am to marry — ” 

“The Prince,” supplied the Jester, mournfully, 
though not by half so mournfully as he intended. 


sixteen 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


“And then it will all be over,” sighed the Princess, 
and the Jester sighed and nodded, but both were 
strangely gleeful in their hearts, like children brim- 
ming over with golden secrets. 

“I love you,” said the Jester, for the thousandth 
time. “I love you — I love you. Tell me, Mariana — ” 

Shyly, her arms on his shoulders, her flushed face 
hidden on his breast, she told him, and somewhere, 
high over the fields, a skylark began to sing . . . But 
at last they rose and took up their quest, hand in hand 
like little children, as they had crossed the garden wall 
eternities before. The sun had already settled toward 
the west, and the shadows of the poplars stretched 
long on the sea of wheat. Beyond the end of the lane 
they found a peasant’s hut, and a hag in a tattered 
kirtle brought them evening’s milk, warm and foaming, 
in earthen mugs. The Jester searched his parti-col- 
ored doublet, found a silken purse, and gave its only 
florin to the hag; but the little maid twisted from her 
bracelet a tiny golden heart, and laid it in the withered 
claw. Catching the glint of the gold, the smouldering 
old eyes took an evil brightness; neither Jester nor 
maid gave heed. 

“God save your graciousness!” mumbled the hag. 
“You come, perhaps, from the city?” 

‘ ‘ From the palace, ’ ’ the little maid explained. 
“By way of the road and the poplars. We must go 
back, or we shall miss our tea.” And hand in hand 
they turned to the ancient lane. 

“A shorter way,” the hag quavered after them. 
“A path in the fields — much sooner to the palace. 
’Lippo! ’Lippo!” she called. 

A shabby knave in forest grays and greens peered 
out at the door of the hut. Into his ear, like a con- 
fidential magpie, she poured a volume of undertone 
cackles and chatters, gesticulating wildly with her 
crooked fingers, and displaying the little golden heart. 


seventeen 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


Her son heard her out in a surly impatience, nodded 
when she had finished, and shambled over to the pair. 

“I will show the path,” he said, striding into the 
field. 

“Good,” said the Jester, following, his arm about 
the little maid and her head against his shoulder. 

“God guard your excellencies!” quavered the old 
hag, and they nodded happily back to her. They might 
have heard a chuckle as she turned to the open door. 

The path was hardly a path at all — merely a mark 
in the deep meadow grasses, like some deserted run- 
way of the hare. It led them to struggle through 
many a matted hedge, where the Jester’s scabbard 
caught crosswise most perversely, and the little maid 
left half her cobweb laces. Always trailing their rag- 
amuffin conductor, they came at last upon a little river, 
meandering lazily among its scattered willows. The sun 
was now well down among the trees. The ragamuffin 
doffed his battered hat, bowing low. 

“Follow the stream,” he told them. “It brings 
one out below the garden walls. I must be getting 
home, or I shall have cold porridge for my supper.” 

And within the moment he had vanished. 

“How quietly he went!” said the little maid. “He 
must have been very hungry for his porridge — I won- 
der if we’ve much farther to the palace?” 

The Jester was thinking aloud. 

“The fellow never supped on porridge in his life,” 
said the Jester. “A pheasant snared in the King’s 
woods, more likely, or a trout from the King’s waters. 
And I remember no stream — ” 

He stopped. The little maid questioned him with 
her eyebrows. 

“ ... No stream so near the palace,” he con- 
cluded. “But perhaps there is one, for all that; I 
don’t doubt we shall be there directly.” 

They went on for a while in silence. 


eighteen 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


“It can’t be much farther, can it?” the little maid 
pouted. “We’ve walked such a long way, and I’m 
tired. And besides, it’s going to be dark. . . . Yon 
will take care of me, won’t you?” 

But before the Jester could answer, she had stum- 
bled over a root and fallen in a heap. She lay there 
crying softly, and would not let the Jester help her 
rise. 

“My ankle,” she sobbed. “How shall we get to 
the palace? I know I couldn’t stand.” 

The Jester fingered the injured ankle. 

“I know so little of such things,” he said, rue- 
fully. “If the Leech were here — You’re sure you 
couldn’t stand?” 

She tried, and sank back with a little moan. 

“I could carry you,” said the Jester bravely, “but 
I’ve been ill, you know. We’d best wait a little, and 
perhaps you may be able to get on.” 

Waiting they found to be an intricate process, 
requiring many kisses and much stroking of the little 
maid’s smooth hair. 

“We’ll be dreadfully late,” she smiled at last, 
bravely. “Do you think- — They ’ll beat you. Florio?” 

“Hardly,” laughed the Jester. “I’ve — I’ve some- 
thing to tell you, Mariana. Dear little sweetheart, 
I’m not—” 

A twig snapped behind them, and a badly smoth- 
ered cackle burst forth in a lusty guffaw. The startled 
Jester turned, and scrambled to his feet, tearing away 
from the round arms that clung to him, and clutching 
the hilt of his sword. He was confronted by a very 
tall figure, whose scanty monkish robes, ill-suited to its 
stature, were shaken with a great unsanctitv of mirth. 
Beside this apparition stood their shameless guide of 
half-an-hour earlier, and about them a score of vaga- 
bond figures rose in silhouette among the trees. 


nineteen 


C L I A R T II 0 PHILANDERS 


IV. 

Pied o’ sallowing candle-light, 

Moumeth Pierrot, wi’ bells bedight— 

No dark’s so deep 
A Fool can sleep, 

When the white bird he’s taming has flown i’ the night! 

Cold as the rime of a last June’s nest, 

White as the fluff of a sea-mew’s breast — 

The bird’s a-flown 
And the Fool’s alone 
Wi’ the rush o’ the scullery-floor to rest! 

Out o’ the East creeps the red o’ day, 

Slants to the cage where the white bird lay — 

Whiles under eaves 
The wolf-wind grieves, 

And whines and worries the dark away! 

— The Third Song of Florio the Fool. 


For a moment utter silence made a tableau of the 
group. The Jester felt the beating of his heart. He 
had no fear, as beseemed the scion of a line of war- 
lords, but a curious catching and fluttering annoyed 
him about the throat. 

“Well?” he demanded, scowling at the shaven 
jowl before him. 

“Well, indeed,” chuckled the robed one, in heavy 
basso. “Hoity-toity — now here’s a picture fit for the 
poets! ‘Virtue and Folly, of a summer’s day’ — Phil- 
andering with petticoats, eh, Master Featherbrain? 
And who may the little one be? A handmaid, per- 
haps — No? — Then a princess of the blood, no less, and 
a rare fine minx, I’ll warrant me! Eh, Prettiness? 
‘ Quis mult a gracilis puer’ — nay, I should say ‘ stultus’ 
— that comes of abusing Horace.” 

The Jester felt a small hand tremble at his knee. 
The touch restored his calm; it freed his throat, and 


twenty 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


straightway he was iron-cold and very angry indeed. 
For the Jester knew something of Latin. 

“ Stultus if you like,” he said, deliberately. “I 
haven’t time to dispute it. The lady has twisted her 
ankle — make a litter with your cloaks, you men, and 
help me get her safely to the palace!” 

The vagabonds rocked with noiseless mirth, and 
whispered and chuckled together. 

“To the palace, eh?” the jovial leader demanded. 
“Oh, Venus, no — there are so many pleasanter places. 
And first we’ve a few trifling concerns with the pair 
of you — eh, Lop-Ear?” — this last addressed to their 
quandam guide. 

“7 say, pluck the Fool, and pick her up, and let’s 
be going,” snarled that worthy. “This place is too 
cursed near the open road.” 

“Gently, Lop-Ear, gently,” the leader remonstrated. 
Then, to the Jester — “Come, Fool, what should you 
say to a forest wedding — you and my lady there? I 
could tie the knot myself — I dress the part” — he laughed, 
shaking smooth his scanty robes and adjusting the 
cowl. “It would serve to amuse these gentlemen here. 
Come, you agree?” 

“My man, we’ve no time for foolery,” said the 
Jester, speaking under strong restraint, and forgetting 
his jestership entirely. Whereat his auditors laughed 
boisterously together. 

“Why, well done, Fool!” the leader cried. “Pro- 
digious well done — the Fool’s a good fool, gentlemen! 
We really shouldn’t strip him of his trinkets. But 
you, my lass — ” 

“What do you wish?” demanded the little maid 
in high disdain — the very faintest of tremors clouding 
her voice. “If it is a ransom — ” 

“It isn’t ransom,” said Lop-Ear, shortly. And 
then he said a vile, an unspeakable thing, and before 
it had quite left his lips the Jester’s point caught him 


twenty-one 


CLIARTHO PHILANDERS 


neatly in the apple of his throat, so that he gurgled 
and choked, and dropped, still gurgling and choking, 
at the foot of the nearest willow. 

For an instant the only sounds were the vagabond’s 
struggles to breathe. Like a Medusa’s viper, the sud- 
den flash of steel had paralized the group, astounding 
them, not so much that one of their number should be 
stricken as that the Jester could strike. And the Jester 
settled easily into position. A bar of broken sunlight 
slanted across his face — he gave back half a step, 'and 
waited on his guard above the huddle of the little maid. 

But there seemed no eagerness to requite the undo- 
ing of Lop-Ear. The gray circle muttered angrily, 
and a man or two started forward; the leader chuckled, 
and cursed them to their places, and a whining voice 
shrilled a protest out of the shadows. 

“0, Mother Mary!” it cried, in terror. “His face, 
I saw his face — that isn’t a Fool! Don’t touch him, 
comrades, for the love of God!” 

It checked the intending avengers like a dash of 
water. The Jester laughed aloud. 

“"Why, there’s Guido!” he cried. “ Guido— flogged 
from the stables for cleaning the harness badly! Well 
met, Guido — I was certain of the voice — ” 

But the ruffians were uneasy to be at him— not, 
as was plain, for Lop-Ear’s sake, but rather to resent 
the Fool’s indignities. 

“ ‘Not a Fool?’ Then what . . ‘Don’t touch him’ 
— why not, for . . . and Lop-Ear cooked . . ” 

The giant leader rumbled a halt through the tur- 
moil. One man, indeed, broke away, knife in hand, and 
would have flung himself on the Jester’s point had 
not the foot of the leader tripped him sprawling. The 
others wavered and paused. 

“Peace, in God’s name!” the priestly cowl bel- 
lowed, and backed it with thunderous oaths. “Cooked 
Lop-Ear? To be sure he did — who cherishes Lop-Ear 


twenty-two 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


so suddenly? Slit his throat! Of course — but not like 
a damned pack of hounds! The lad’s a good lad, and 
no Fool — Guido’s right, for once! You’ll fight him 
like men, or by — ” 

When at last he had carried his point, he turned 
to the waiting Jester. 

“Now, my young coxcomb,” he said, “you were 
bold enough with that skewer of yours before Lop- 
Ear could draw — and now we’ll watch you plying it in 
earnest. The Hunchback wears a blade, I suppose? 
Good! Anton, try a bout with this young gentleman!” 

The Hunchback came forward readily enough, 
flailing a heavy broadsword through the air. His face 
was wried with menace; the misshapen shoulders were 
pregnant of power, and the arms seemed excessively 
long. The Jester took stock of the man, and considered 
his own slender weapon. He had never fought with 
the naked point, but he knew his blade and trusted it 
— a light Toledo, mounted with rubies, which had been 
the prize of honor in the latest fencing tourney at the 
palace. The gem of the hilt was red, as red as sun- 
set. . . . 

“I should counsel you, my young friend, to fight 
with circumspection,” said the leader, dryly, moving 
aside as steel rang steel, to give the duel the length 
of the glade. “Otherwise Anton there will be slitting 
your belly. But were you to puncture his — these rest- 
less fellows here might stop the bout! I fear they’ve 
no chivalry — that comes of being born outside the 
palace. Ah, prettily done — Watch him, Hunchback — 
he’ll be spitting you next!” 

The Hunchback fought by sheer strength, yet with 
a certain knack to his swings and slashes which busied 
the Jester at warding. To touch his antagonist was 
child’s play — to kill him would not have been difficult, 
but the Jester had other designs. Long since, he knew, 
the evening meal had been carried to an invalid Prince, 


twenty-three 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


in a palace which he, the Jester, had left behind him 
hours and ages before. Therefore old Grimalkin must 
have wakened the Prince for his supper, and naturally 
enough, when she found . . . The Jester laughed in his 
heart, even as a thwarted sweep of the Hunchback’s 
sword slid off from his rapier-blade. They would 
search, of course ; the courtiers would search, the 
chamberlains would search, the scullions would search, 
and, best of all, the Palace Guards would search, and 
sooner or later would find him. Meanwhile he must 
play down the Hunchback slowly, as an angler plays 
a trout, and if the light should last . . 

Edge and point, they made it an excellent com- 
bat. On one side the cutthroats watched silently, with 
occasional growls of interest. On the other stood the 
cowled leader, enjoying himself enormously, and offer- 
ing boisterous applause when the Jester clicked aside 
some unusually vicious stroke. No sound came from 
the little maid, and beyond her the struggles of Lop- 
Ear had dwindled to a heavy whistling breath. But at last 
the battering on his rapier began to weary the Jester’s 
wrist. He remembered his fasting and illness — the 
strain of the fencing posture irked his thighs. He 
resolved to end the bout; it would gain him at least a 
respite. And when next the Hunchback raised his arm 
the Jester lunged, transfixed the shoulder, and, recover- 
ing neatly, rested on his guard. The Hunchback’s 
sword dropped gleaming on the grass; the Hunchback 
cursed him, panting. 

But the others looked on impassive, or even 
amused by their champion’s discomfiture. Impatience 
had yielded to interest, and the leader had scarcely 
demanded another volunteer when a cadaverously 
slender youth threw off his ragged cloak, caught up the 
broadsword, and tested its temper in his hands. Then, 
to the Jester’s amazement, he ignored the edge com- 
pletely, saluted after the French fashion, settled grace- 


twenty-four 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


fully into position, disengaged his blade, and lunged. 
It was wonderful work with so clumsy a weapon, and 
indeed, for some moments the Jester was hard put to 
it to brush aside the heavy point that flashed and 
licked so venomously for his throat. His strength was 
dying with the sunlight; in a very little while both 
would be gone, and then he must fight out his fight 
in the dusk by the feel of the blades — and his wrist, 
already numbing, would surely betray him, and then — 
But the Jester thought only for the little maid behind 
him. He strove once more, very bitterly, to send home 
a riposte in time, and realized, even as he failed, that 
had his antagonist wielded a duellist’s rapier there 
had been two better oLdes in all the kingdom.. Out 
of the heavy gloom little bubbling sounds told the pass- 
ing of Lop-Ear ... A chill passed over the Jester’s 
limbs, and he gave back foot by foot before the ban- 
dit’s eager lunges. 

And then, close at hand to the westward, came the 
patter of many hoofs on a hard roadbed, and the sun- 
light was snuffed out among the trees. A falconer’s 
whistle hung on a chain at the Jester’s throat. In 
turn he gathered himself and lunged, twice, thrice, 
pressing his man before him to a tree at the end of 
the glade. He leaped back and snatched in the neck of 
his doublet ; a long-drawn prayer for succor shrilled from 
the gloaming wood. Then the J ester was aware of a great 
confusion — that the monkish leader, stricken from 
behind, had gone down with a yell, that Guido was cry- 
ing his name, and that all the rogues were at him 
together. For just a heart-beat he kept them all back, 
darting his rapier in-and-out a circle of clubs and knives, 
but presently he had tripped on a willow-root, and his 
knees gave way, and with a sob he crumpled down 
to utter darkness. . . . 

Much later he opened his eyes in yellow lantern- 
light. The grizzled guards were bending over him ; 


twenty-five 


CLIAETHO PHILANDERS 


his head lay very naturally in the lap of the little maid. 
Nearby was Guido, sometime hostler at the stables, 
dying, and babbling of blue eyes in Normandy. 

“Scratches, praise God!” a gruff voice said softly. 
“But for Guido, his Highness were — ” 

The Jester, thus entitled, groped wildly to rise. 
“Mariana,” he panted, “I lied— I lied — ” 

“7 knew,” said the little maid, and laughed through 
her falling tears. 

V. 

But meanwhile in the palace dungeon lay Florio the 
Fool; they had dragged him off to gaol without his 
supper. The Fool stretched out on the stones and 
rushes, and sniffled himself to sleep. 


So mote it be to the end of time, 

Though Fools pelt Love with laughter — 
The train trip off at the nuptial chime, 

To live, and love — an you like my rhyme — 
Happily ever after! 

— The Epilogue of Florio the Fool. 


twenty-six 










